Viewfinder
by Nyx Vasquez
Summary: When your hero dies, who is left to save you? War brings people together in the best ways, then tears them apart in the worst. Year Seven at Hogwarts. If you do NOT tolerate slash pairings, then I suggest you do not read this. Enjoy.
1. Prologue: c a m e r a e y e s

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Viewfinder (the Open Eyes remix)

Nyx Vasquez

Prologue - Camera Eyes

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They didn't miss the funeral.

Somehow, none of them knew him personally, but everybody knew of him - 'the Golden Boy', 'the Boy Who Lived', 'the Chosen One'. Everybody who is anybody is here; there is no fathomable limit to the head counts. The range is enormous - from the wealthy to the poor, the ragtag to the ball gowns. The women, holding handkerchiefs to their mascara-stained eyes. The men, standing at attention with a comforting arm around their delicately sobbing wife's shoulders. The children, squirming in and out between rows of adult legs. The babies, squalling in their mothers' arms; restless, hungry and unsure. It is the event of the century.

Harry - fucking - Potter's funeral. Nobody missed the funeral.

It isn't what he would have wanted, you know. The funeral, that is. Too many sad and despondent people; too many flowers. The garish colours will blind you if you aren't careful. And, as usual, nobody knows exactly where to go, but everybody finds the place. Hogwarts is becoming the 'In' place to host a death. First Dumbledore, then McGonagall, then Slughorn. Then Harry.

Minerva McGonagall was killed in the line of duty. Protecting a small, huddled mass of Gryffindor first- and second- years, she was hit by the Avada Kedavra. That was one of the many moments of the war I will never forget - her body, sailing backwards in a graceful arc, a stunned look on her face. When time ceased to exist for her, nobody knew. But immediately, as if hit with a Stunning Spell all at once, everbody stopped fighting. The kids screamed, horrified and sobbing, as their idol, their rock-solid protector, dropped to the ground in front of them, lifeless and sprawled inelegantly on the marble floor.

Slughorn went down screaming and kicking; firing off hexes and curses everywhere, a massive island in the sea of war. "Fuck you - " were his last words before he took a well-aimed _Crucio_ right to the chest from the wand of Anthony Dolohov, the wizard with the pointed face who was friends with my father. He screamed; oh, how he screamed! Twitching on his back and jerking his legs like a marionette on rampant strings, the sounds that issued from his mouth were inhuman. To this moment I can remember them, those screams, clear as day.

Then the Killing Curse - with the alien rush of hissing green death, speeding towards his shaking body like a bat out of hell - struck him and his eyes glazed over. Gone. Just another body in the sea of many.

I never could have done it. Killed Dumbledore, that is. I knew - when I disarmed him - that he was doing something else, and he was. He was immobilizing my Technicolor lover. With Harry right there, and this wizened, strange, kind old man right in front of me, I knew I never could have done it. Never could have killed him; never could have killed anybody. Fucking stupid Severus.

Please excuse my ineloquence; I can think of no better terms than the guttural to explain this - all of it. These words are fragile, but they are my own; and so if you'll please excuse the instability I shall continue.

Still, I can only imagine what is running through every single person's mind at this time. Molly Weasley's face is ashen and tear-stained; the seat that would have normally been filled by the gangly presence of her husband - if he were alive - is now filled by Bill. I cannot fathom the expression on his face, it is as if a stone wall has come up behind his eyes and repelled all intruders. Percy's absence is noted, but familiar.

Ginny (Ginevra) Weasley is standing slumped, her arms loosely draped around Hermione Granger's neck and chin resting on her friend's bushy-haired head. Her eyes are worn and tired; red and sleep-deprived. What used to be such a vivid hazel, the ones that Harry loved, is now a dull muddy color. I can see her lips moving into Hermione's hair and tears streaking unwontedly down her cheeks. 'Mione is shaking silently, repressed sobs wracking her slight frame with sorrow. She won't let us see her cry; I know this. But I fear holding it in will only tear her apart.

Ron Weasley is holding her hand, his eyes dead and cold. Tears do not threaten him; I assume he is as dried out at a sponge by now. Still, I can see the misery in those unfathomable hazel depths, hidden but ever-present these days. The war has taken it's toll on everyone, but this must be like a last knife twist in the heart for him. Yet now I just wish to go up, grab him by the collar and shake him and scream into his face, _You weren't the only one that Harry ever loved!_ But this is a funeral, and the casualty was his best friend, so this is not the time for rivalries. Not the time. Once, we would have fought for Harry's affection; now, we are fighting to put the first flower on his grave.

Luna Lovegood sits next to Ginny, her over-large silver orbs drowning in sorrow. No orange radishes swing from her ears; no butterbeer cork necklace to keep her neck company. She is unadorned and fragile now. Something broke inside her that night that cannot be fixed, no matter the situation. Now that Neville is gone, she keeps her own company and does not ask anything of anybody. Fred and George Weasley sit in repose next to her, wearing robes of the deepest navy (which only makes their flaming red hair stand out like wildfire). Not a single emotion comes from them, and they only move to scratch their nose or sneeze. But their eyes lack their luster and their faces are sunken in; and I can see their hands subtly intertwined beneath their sleeves, reassuring and oh-so-solid.

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks stand over to the side, holding each other in an unashamed despondency. Tears stream down both their faces in unplanned streaks; Tonks' hair is a navy blue (same as the twins' robes). They fit together like a puzzle, this worn werewolf and life-happy girl. Not woman, but girl. I can only dream about what must be going through Remus' head right now - first his lover (Sirius Black) and then his pup. Tonks can evidently sense this, because she buries her head in his chest.

All I want is that.

That sense of comfort, of needing, of wanting, of effect, of reassurance. I want to break something, shatter it into a million shards, rip and tear so I can feel something, so I can let everybody know that I'm here, and don't I deserve this kind of reassurance too? All this feeling welling up inside me is going to overflow, but I won't let it. A cavernous hole has been opened in my chest, and something has irretrievably flown out and lost. All I can do now is _want_. I want my Technicolor Eyes back, I want to feel him next to me when I fall asleep and again when I wake up, I want to see him hunched over his schoolwork, I want to see his eyes above, under, beside me while we're making love, rough and loud (or would you call that fucking?), I want to feel his hands on my skin, I want to feel him alive alive alive and all fucking _over_ me, I want to be wrapped up in him and trapped and never let out! I want him back, more than anything. I want him back, I want him in my bed under me over me inside me around me next to me EVERYWHERE...

... but I know I can't have that.

(pleasedon'tcrypleasedon'tcrypleasedon'tfuckingcry)

'They' (the ever-present pseudonym) might _call_ it 'falling' in love, but I call it crashing... burning... exploding... breaking... shattering...

Sweet, salty tears spill up and over my eyes, and my view of Harry is blurry now. So I look at the sky, but the creaking of a chair and the scream of a hex snaps my head back into the place where everyone is; terra firma.

Ginny has tears streaming down her radiant face, her once-again hazel eyes blazing. Seven reporters are covered in bats (Bat-Bogey Hex), and she is standing up straight, wand out.

"This is it," I hear her, above all the noise and panic. "My last chance."

She roughly pulls Hermione up, who looks suprised through all her tears. Her face is still beautiful, even through all her tears, and her violet eyes register confusion. All eyes are everywhere but there, except for mine. Mine are trained on them.

"I love you, 'Mione," Ginny whispers to her, and lands a soul-searing kiss on the other girl's lips. I can see Hermione's brain working furiously in her head, first registering shock, then confusion, then relaxing into the kiss; and my eyes well anew. "Always and forever."

"I... love you... too... 'Evi, but..."

Ginny (Evi) presses a soft finger to Hermione's lips, then shakes her head. "No questions. I just needed you to know."

"Goodbye."

She kisses Hermione again, softly; gently, and Disapparates with a loud crack! and a cloud of purple smoke. This is odd, this is a new addition to the story. Ginny... and Hermione. I'll have to get used to that. Hermione sinks to the grass in a heap, and in all the confusion, I simply walk - glide? - up (I can't feel myself moving) to the place where my Technicolor Eyes rests, safe in his mahogany cage.

The casket is open.

I brush a piece of hair out of my eyes, tears still streaming down my cheeks, and kiss first his scar and then his cold lips. Tears fall on his serene, still, white, battle-torn face - it is a harsh reminder that he is dead; gone.

It reminds me that I won't hear him say "Hey, Night Eyes," first thing in the morning, when he props himself up on one elbow to gaze at me through the early sunlight. It reminds me that we won't have anymore late-night escapades in the back of Sirius' old Toyota pickup. It reminds me that we won't get drunk and black out on top of eachother anymore. It wakes me up to the fact that he is gone, and I am here, but I don't want to be here.

So I Disapparate from all the chaos, back to our bed in his dorm room, where the sheets smell like him - lime, freshly mown grass, and smoke - and sweat and sex, and drown myself in Firewhiskey and forget that he is gone, forget who I am, and think I'm just waking up in a car, in a truck bed, where he's laying next to me, and looking up at the stars, his hand pointing up to the Sirius constellation - "_that's him_" - and then the endless expanse of night sky.

Do you know, I once had a lover with Technicolor eyes...

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End Prologue

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**Author's Note:** The reason this is called the 'remix' is because this was a story in a notebook once, but I revised it and am now posting it. Hence, the remix.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Love Muches,

--Nyx


	2. Chapter One: t i r e d e y e s

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Viewfinder the Open Eyes remix

By Nyx Vasquez

Chapter One - Tired Eyes

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_"Is the passion all gone? Or is it still newly wed? If all this heat's doing is making us stick to the bed, then there is no more life to revive. But if the hunger's still there, hidden somewhere inside, covered up by the boredom we've been trying to hide... then dig it up and devour."_

_-- Bright Eyes, Pull My Hair_

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" - to Gryffindor and to another great year!"

A loud cheer goes up; glasses are clinked and then the room quiets as everybody polishes off their drinks. The comfy, warm Gryffindor common room swells with undaunted conversations: people reuniting with old friends, making new friends, making polite conversation so as not to feel left out. First years mingling with second so as to get acquainted with the school; third- and fourth-years feeling at least a bit comfortable in the middle - or at least, as comfortable as one can get, what with the war raging on outside these big stone walls.

The only people who are not celebrating are the ones who need a good time the most: Harry, Ron and Hermione are sitting next to the fire, Ron and 'Mione on the loveseat and Harry in an overstuffed chintz armchair. Harry's electrifying forest eyes are rubbed dark with lack of sleep and worrying, and Ron's cannot be perturbed. However, Hermione's violet eyes are lost in troublesome thought; her brain working at speeds previously thought impossible by both Muggles and wizards alike. She is beautiful in the light from the fire - her hair gives off a soft, warm honey glow and she gives off a gentle radiance that seems to sparkle against the deep maroon of the Gryffindor-coloured couch she is sitting on.

Staring at her, I think - _she is the center of my world_.

Or, she would have been, if she was mine.

Her hand inches ever closer to my dimwitted brother's, and when it finally touches his, it seems to ignite a confused spark on his face that eventually starts a beautifully collected smile, one that gives way to understanding. Like I said, beautifully _collected_. Hermione seems to think that all is well.

The smile, however, never reaches his eyes.

A pang of longing zigzags through my body, but I am interrupted by Seamus Finnigan, who taps my shoulder with a sad yet mischevious smile on his face.

"Want to dance?" he says, smirking.

"... yes," I say, letting him drag me away.

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The night is long and filled with sweat.

On these kinds of nights, the sheets no longer feel like cotton, but like flypaper.

On these kinds of nights, I can almost pretend that it's her.

Imbued with alcohol and pent-up passion and frustration, we roll over and over, legs entwined and hands stoking chests, faces, backs, running heated fingers through Irish hair. Fingernails scrape sweaty backs.

It's hard to keep up the illusion of Hermione, but as long as I can keep focused, he is not Seamus, Irish bloodhound, but Hermione, English bookworm.

He pretends not to hear when a quiet 'Hermione' escapes my lips; I do the same when he moans "Blaise..." into my hair.

It is wordless; faceless; loveless. Just another night full of released energy and longings, a spiraling coil of desire bubbling up in the bottom of my stomach. In and out - this would not be a night with Hermione.

He also pretends not to hear when, wrapped in a gold sheet, I stumble into the bathroom and turn the shower on, sit under the scalding spray and sob for the loss of my innocence, for what I just did, for all the reasons that I could never say to the light of day.I am unable to surface, or sober up, or know what just happened to us in there, but it sure as hell wasn't the real thing. That fact is unavoidable.

The shower shuts off - the hot water is gone.

So I wrap myself in a towel, climb back into that bed I now share with the one person who couldn't care less who he's shagging.

Maybe when the war is over, I'll have a chance.

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September passes in a haze of early classes and furtive glances. The breakfast table is eerily silent this morning, as if something has happened, but as to what I am unsure.

Confused, I sit down next to Harry at the table. His face is creased with worry, and his undereyes are so dark it looks as if he hasn't slept in weeks.

"Harry?" I ask, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I-I'm sorry, Ginny, I can't talk right now..." His thought trails off, and as if in a spy movie, his Technicolor green eyes drift over to the Slytherin table, make a quick connection with somebody else's - Harry leaves the entrance hall just as Professor McGonagall stands to speak to the masses.

With all eyes on her, no one but I sees Draco Malfoy follow Harry out into the hallway.

"Students," says McGonagall, "we have - a bit of - _news_ this morning."

This statement is followed by a rumbling of noise, much like a submarine surfacing. With a wave of her wand, she silences us all.

"Last evening, a man called Lucius Malfoy -" there were some murmurs " - escaped from Azkaban. He immediately made for - Apparated to - _Hogsmeade_."

A loud rush of noise; scared looks. Once again, the Hall is silenced with a wave of her wand.

"Currently, there are Aurors surrounding Hogsmeade, but by the time they had arrived there Mr. Malfoy had Summoned the Death Eaters by means of which we are not sure. There are currently well over one hundred Death Eaters inside the village of Hogsmeade - " gasps and sobs " - and so I must tell you. To any students whose parents wish them to go home/ would like to return home, the Hogwarts Express will be taking them home. The train does not go anywhere near the affected area, and is protected with wards and the like.

"The train leaves at 12 noon tomorrow. Any and all students who are staying, please help your fellow students who are leaving our company with packing and collecting their items. Hogwarts is open to any person who needs its protection and - hopefully - will once again be safe enough for its wonderful students. Thank you."

Everyone looks as if they have been Stunned; however, Hermione's eyes are merely filled with tears and my stupid brother is hanging his head. They must have already known.

I am shocked. "Why... didn't you tell me this?"

Ron looks up, his eyes showing something other than lust for the first time in his life. "We thought it would be best if McGonagall told you, we didn't want to upset you - "

"Oh." My voice is full of hate; I am surprised at the sound. "So you thought I would run away scared, just like always, huh? Ron? It's just like I've been telling you all of my bloody Hogwarts career - _I am not a fucking little kid!_ I am in SIXTH YEAR! Who was it that fought with you at the Ministry? While you were messing around with some slimy brains, I was fighting my ass off! I can handle it, Ron!"

Hermione looks shell-shocked and opens her mouth to say something, her eyes full of cerulean tears, and it makes my heart break. "No, Hermione." I cut her off before the words escape her lips. "I'm not even good enough for you to tell me common knowledge! Am I that unimportant to you!"

My own eyes fill with tears; but I will not shed them. Her violet eyes are tortured, but she needs to understand, and so I say those final words.

"What happened to 'best friends'? Or was I just a joke to you?"

I walk out, my head held high, so nobody can see those crystalline tears sliding their way down my cheeks. Her eyes are burning me from behind, so I run.

Faster and faster, I take the secret shortcut behind the tapestry, the one where Harry and "_my brother_" found Dean and I snogging fifth year. Nobody will be there; everybody is in the Great Hall, and so nobody will mind if I just sit here for a while.

Except maybe the two people snogging in the dark tunnel.

Harry's hands are strung wildly through blond hair, as Draco's are through ebony. Tears stream down both of their sleepless faces, mingling on their cheeks. Neither notices me until I gasp as Malfoy begins to unbutton Harry's shirt.

They stop.

"Ginny - Ginny, wait - " Harry pleads, detaching himself from Draco, "I can explain - " - but it is too late; I shove past them and run on my way to Gryffindor Tower.

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It is night; everybody is at dinner.

_I will not go down there,_ I tell my stomach, but it does not listen to me, and so I ignore it. I cannot look at Harry; I am not speaking to Ron or Hermione.

Harry - and Draco Malfoy?

Not that it bothers me that they are gay, because then I would be the biggest hypocrite ever, but _together_? As in having a relationship; anything other than enemies?

The unlikeliest pairing since Ron and Hermione.

But I suppose it was always coming, I mean, all those years of fighting - were they really just concealed passion? How long had they been doing this?

_Hermione._

Those big, violet eyes... so full of - what? Unfathomable purple depths of sorrow, of understanding, of - what? What _is_ it about her?

But I can never hope to figure that out.

My door creaks open and shut; I do not notice anything out of the ordinary from my place uner the covers until a disembodied hand grabs my wrist and yanks me out of my hiding place; begins to tug me along somewhere. I fight, and struggle, but the hand continues to yank until we reach the seventh floor corridor, and then it releases me and disappears.

At least, until a door appears in the wall and the hand turns the knob and pulls me in.

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Somebody throws off an Invisibility Cloak (Harry?) and steps into a small circle of the last fading light on the floor - Hermione.

I am furious; in my anger I bolt for the door but she catches my trailing hand and pulls me to her, holding me fast. I cannot hope to be let go, but maybe - I don't want to. Being this close is making my heart race, but no, we are fighting, and I must stay calm.

"Ginny." Her voice is like honey; I'm sure she doesn't mean for it to be, but it is - "I'm so, so, sorry. I should - I should have told you..." Tears drip down onto my neck from her beautiful eyes.

She releases me as I gently tug, and with one look at her I forget why I was upset.

"It's okay, Hermione, I'm sorry too... I never should have gone off on you like that..."

She's much too close to me; I can feel all my inhibitions slipping away, little bits of it gnawing at the back of my brain - _She doesn't love you so this isn't right, you can't, don't kiss her..._

Obviously I don't listen, because when our lips connect it shoots off fireworks in my brain and kills all the little voices who didn't agree.

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"Ginny..." she pants, shirt and skirt off, underneath me. "W-We... we can't... This isn't..."

But she forgets as my hand slips under the elastic...

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We are crying now, lying on the dusty floor, wrapped up in eachother. She is folded into my arms, and for a fleeting second the voices say _I told you, she's unhappy now..._

"Oh, Ginny..." she sobs, her face pressed into my chest, "I'm so sorry. I can't... do this..."

"Yes, you can," I say, crying as well, "you just did."

"B-But... Ginny..." She stops, evidently thinking. "You're not... _him_."

"I know," I say, pressing my face into the nape of her neck and just breathing in the scent of _her_ - fresh parchment, oranges, and crayons - "but can't I at least try?"

"Ginny, you don't... you don't love me, do you?"

My heart hardens a bit against the arrow heading straight for it and I lie, smoothly, slowly -

"No."

She sighs. "Good..."

I'm a horrible liar. A horrible, terribly, no-good rotten filthy liar.

Damn.

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End Chapter One

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**A/N:** Okay. So originally, instead of the Bright Eyes stuff, I was thinking of "Spidersong" by Say Anything... "you've got those tired eyes all the time. yeah, you need someone to bring you to bed..."... but I didn't. Actually, I think the Bright Eyes thing pulled it off rather well... if I do say so myself. And I do.

**Thank-Yous - Ashes of Stars**and**dairygirl,** thank you for the very nice reviews. They made me very happy . However, I did get a nasty review from one person (named 'the time maker'), that said something along the lines of "That's disgusting! They're gay!" with numerous spelling mistakes. Once again - if you do not like/tolerate homosexuality, then please FUCK OFF. Thank you ahdn have a nice day.

Love,

--Nyx


	3. Chapter Two: w i d e e y e s

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Viewfinder (the Open Eyes remix)

By Nyx Vasquez

Chapter Two - Wide Eyes

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_And you tell me that it's over... I wake up lying in a patch of four leaf clovers and you're restless, and I'm naked. You've gotta get out, you can't stand to see me shakin'... No, could you let me go? I didn't think so. And you don't wanna be here in the future, so you say the present's just a pleasant interruption to the past; and you don't wanna look much closer because you're afraid to find out all this hope you had sent into the sky, by now, had crashed... and it did because of me. And then you bring me home... afraid to find out that you're alone and I'm sleeping in your living room. But we don't have much room to live._

_--Something Corporate, Konstantine_

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"Luna... LUNA!"

I'm awake, goddamn you, you stupid llama! I... wake... what?

Neville Longbottom is standing over me, looking concerned. He is not a llama.

"Oh... hey, sorry, Neville."

"Are you okay? You just fell asleep right at the table..."

"I'm fine."

Neville has become more overprotective, if that is possible, of every single one of us (the gang who were at the Ministry back in fourth year). He peeks around every corner before he continues on, and he constantly checks for signs that people are reading his mail... when he gets any. The reasoning behind this is, Neville got quite a bunch of fan mail during 6th year... and some that you couldn't classify as 'friendly'. Once he was even the unfortunate recipient of a Howler gone wrong, which, instead of catching on fire, exploded in his face and gave him some rather nasty burns.

He's not the chubby kid he was anymore. He has grown skinnier than a giraffe's neck, and his skin is white as snow. His eyebrows are perpetually furrowed, and his face is creased with worry. He jumps when Blaise Zabini (his boyfriend) wraps his arms around Neville's shoulders and burrows his face into his neck.

"Darling, relax. You're far too nervous," Blaise says, winking at me over Neville's shoulder with chocolate eyes.

"And you're far too blase about this," says Neville snappishly. "What if you were actually somebody, possibly a Dark wizard, sneaking up on me to kill me? What then?"

Blaise, a fake hurt and pouting look stretched across his elegant features, releases Neville from his grasp and walks around to the front of him. "Ah, you don't trust me? I'm not evil anymore, you know..."

"I know you're not evil... when we're outside of the bedroom..." Neville adds in an undertone, his burnt sienna eyes sparkling with mischief.

I smile knowingly at them as they leave the entrance hall in some semblance of a hurry.

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I suppose, in a way, Neville, Blaise and I have become something quite like the Golden Trio that is Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Even though both of them are a year older than me, we still hang out together every chance we get - between classes, after classes, at meals, and every day after all the burdens of the day are done. We are totally inseparable - I don't know how I ever lived without companionship like that, not that I stop to think about it. It's hard just being alone, away from them, at night, with only the sounds of my dormmates chatting happily amongst themselves and giggling at me every chance they get.

Really, I love those two more than I have ever loved anybody else. No, not in the 'I-want-to-shag-you' way, but more like... wow. I can't even being to describe it.

They're my soulmates. That's all I can think of.

Mine.

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As I head up to my dorm, I notice droves of students - my classmates among them - stuggling down the stairs with their trunks. Presumably leaving.

My father doesn't want me home.

Not that I care, but it seems so heartless - after all, I am his daughter. His only child, his only sign that he had any relation to his wife of 13 years.

Maybe he doesn't care.

But still, the thought of these people all leaving seems ridiculous. Hogwarts (possibly) is safer than their homes - the walls themselves hold magic in their stones. Strong magic. So leaving would just be ludicrous. I don't think I would have left even if my father had summoned me home. No, I wouldn't have, because Neville and Blaise are here, and so are Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and Harry. With them around, I don't need anybody else.

So I'm staying.

Good.

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We watch the school train depart.

"So long," Harry calls to Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. "Stay safe!"

Hermione's cheeks are wet with tears. I don't fully understand why, I mean, we're still here, aren't we? Ginny is standing next to her, hand entertwined with Hermione's, and Ron's hand is on 'Mione's shoulder. They're such good friends.

Harry sits down on the ground and curls his knees into himself, his head tucked into his chest.　Sobs wrack his small frame, and I feel so bad for him. After all he worked for, after all he has done to make sure Hogwarts was safe, all he had sacrificed... and then to watch all his labour go down the drain in the shape of students and their parents. What a way to go down.

A few feet behind him, Draco Malfoy is standing with the most curious look on his face, and I'm intrigued - what is that expression? Hate? Pity? Or... what?

I sidle up to Draco. "Hey."

My appearance must have shocked him, because he jumps a bit and looks shaken. I can see the tears hidden in his bright silver eyes, and I know. Even if he doesn't, I can tell.

"Don't cry for Harry, Draco. Just be there for him."

Malfoy looks stricken, then angrily wipes the tears from his eyes and plasters a smirk on his face. "Pssh. As if I - as if I would cry for _Potter_. Don't make me laugh."

But the way he says Harry's name lacks venom. Even as he stands in front of me trying to be brave, hands folded across his chest, the cracks in his voice let me know all I need to. And every time we hear a small sob from everybody's favorite hero, a tear slides down his cheek.

"Ah shut UP, Malfoy you insufferable git, just get over there and comfort the poor thing. Nobody else seems to care, and if you don't do it then I will."

He snorts at me, but not unkindly. Annoyedly, if I do say so myself.

"Analyzing bitch," he throws as a last insult, then goes and wraps his arms around the shaking hero.

Gotcha, you blonde-haired prick. You finally let your guard down.

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fin Chapter Two

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**A/N - **So, the students have finally left Hogwarts. But who is left? Find out next chapter!

Love and Torture Weapons,

--Nyx


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